


back at one

by thunderylee



Category: Kis-My-Ft2 (Band)
Genre: Canon Universe, M/M, Romance, drama filming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 11:58:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12342267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: Honestly if Kitayama really did write fanfiction about them on the internet, it wouldn’t be nearly as frustrating as Fujigaya’s real life.





	back at one

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck. written with mousapelli.

Even though they all agree to play up their movie a little camp, when they actually start practicing with the scripts, Fujigaya gets a bit uncomfortable with it.

“Is this really okay?” he asks, looking from Senga dancing in the corner to Tamamori staring at nothing to Yokoo pushing around the swiffer. “You don’t think it seems…”

“What?” Senga asks, coming to a stop after a bodyroll and blinking at him. Beside him, Nikaido shakes himself a little as if out of a daydream.

“Ridiculously stereotypical versions of our personalities?” Fujigaya asks. He shifts on the couch, glancing at Kitayama stuffing his face beside him. “I mean, camp is one thing but this reads like a bad fanfiction.” He shoves at Kitayama’s shoulder. “Did you and Manager print this off this internet or something?”

Kitayama only grins slyly. “Maybe I wrote it.”

“I know what you’re mad about,” Tamamori says, sidling closer and grinning himself. He catches eyes with Miyata, who grins too.

“If it’s Kisumai’s fanfiction…” Miyata starts, but Fujigaya cuts him off by reaching across the table to thwap him over the head with his script.

“Shut up and worry about your own fanservice,” Fujigaya grumbles. Miyata makes a hopeful kissy face at Tamamori, then just laughs when Tamamori glares back, unimpressed. Fujigaya sneaks another glance at Kitayama, who doesn’t seem concerned at all about their upcoming filming and quite how blatantly it’s meant to encourage their fans’ rabu-rabu insanities.

Whatever, Fujigaya decides, he’s a professional. He’s been rubbing up against Kitayama on command for half his life, there’s hardly anything different about doing it for these cameras versus _Duet’s_ or Dome’s. He puts it out of his mind as best he can and does his job, only rolling his eyes when Manager-san, usually backed up by Senga and Nikaido, orders him to get closer, closer.

They’ve been doing stageplays for long enough that a little bit of ad-libbing is good, expected in the script even, but Fujigaya still isn’t prepared for Kitayama to suddenly turn around on the third take of the first scene and pop one of his stupid red beans right in Fujigaya’s mouth. Fujigaya nearly spits it back out at him, eyes wide, and Kitayama ruins the take by bursting into laughter.

“Your face,” Kitayama gasps, a few seconds before he can collect himself.

“ _Your_ face,” Fujigaya snaps back, blushing and flustered and knowing he’s going to have to swallow it because the director is already yelling over that they are so keeping that in the scene. “Ugh, fuck you so much.”

“Easy,” Kitayama teases, giving Fujigaya one more look over his shoulder. “It’s not _that_ kind of fanfiction.”

And fuck him so much harder, because after he says that, it’s difficult for Fujigaya not to think about it constantly, about exactly what their shoving and name-calling and red-bean-feeding looks like it’s a very thin cover for.

“I mean, for fuck’s sake,” Fujigaya whines to Yokoo over lunch. “Why’s he got to encourage like that? The fans don’t need any help.”

“It’s because you get so bent out of shape about it,” Yokoo says, not needing any help figuring out who they’re talking about when Fujigaya hisses “ _he_ ” like that. “If you didn’t make it so much fun to tease you—”

“It’s not like I can help it!” Fujigaya huffs. He shoves away his bento so he can flop his head down onto the table, cheek squished against his arm. “I don’t even care when it’s you or Miyacchi or whatever, it’s just that he’s such a dick about getting into it. Sometimes I wonder if he really is reading fanfiction about us on the internet!”

“I don’t wonder about that at all,” Yokoo says with a little laugh, making Fujigaya frown even harder. Yokoo rests his chin on his hand, looking Fujigaya over more seriously. “Taisuke, have you ever thought about the reason it bothers you so much? Because it doesn’t seem to me like it’s the teasing that’s bothering you at all.”

“Idiot, what else would it be?” Fujigaya asks, eyebrow raised.

“Maybe,” Yokoo says gently, like he’s a doctor breaking the news of a terminal disease to a patient, “it’s that you care because you think he’s _just_ teasing.”

“What?!” Fujigaya snaps, sitting bolt upright and shoving at Yokoo’s shoulder. “Ugh, you! Get the fuck out and go clean something!”

So of course after that is where it all starts to go terribly wrong. Once the idea is implanted in his mind, there’s nothing he can do to get it out. It’s there, marinating in the back of Fujigaya’s head no matter what he does, and it only gets worse when Kitayama is around. And since they’re running headlong into a triple release, Kitayama is around _all the time_.

But lying on his back with Kitayama sprawled out on top of him after they both crash to the floor, on camera, Fujigaya firmly believes that this is his punishment for every single thing he’s ever done wrong in his entire life. Every time he’s argued with his mother, every time he’s slept with a girl and never called her again, even back when Kisumai was first formed and he was kind of a dick to Tamamori and the younger ones. Justice is divine, and ironic, and Fujigaya’s only saving grace is that his slate will be clean after this is over.

Except that it’s not really over when it’s over, even if they thankfully complete the scene in one take. The only thing worse than having Kitayama on top of him is having Kitayama on top of him multiple times, panting for air and pretending to be grateful that Kitayama is alive. It’s not that difficult to act out, since contrary to popular belief Fujigaya does give a crap about everyone in his group and would be severely affected if something serious happened to any of them, and that includes Kitayama.

However, that does not mean he wants them on top of him. He doesn’t want anyone on top of him, really, unless they’re riding his dick. Making that comparison takes Fujigaya’s thoughts into a completely unwanted direction, though he’s thankfully upright when it happens.

“Your heartbeat was super fast,” Kitayama says, his voice just as deep as when it had been vibrating Fujigaya’s chest. “Are you feeling okay?”

Fujigaya blinks, but he’s not the only one; both Senga and Miyata stop what they’re doing to stare at Kitayama like he’d just announced that he’s from a planet of alien midgets and has spent this entire time surveilling them for intelligence. Tamamori trips over his bag, but that can’t wholly be attributed to Kitayama’s statement.

“What?” Kitayama replies, looking around. “This country thrives on dramas about people with heart conditions, so it’s only natural I’m concerned. You need to take better care of yourself, Fujigaya.”

Now Fujigaya narrows his eyes. “I take care of myself just fine. You’re just hearing things.”

“I _felt_ it,” Kitayama insists, and Nikaido fails to hide a snicker behind Senga’s shoulder. “It’s not healthy to be that fast. Calm down already. It’s just a goddamn movie.”

He walks away before Fujigaya processes his words, his affronted glare coming too late. He directs it at Nikaido instead, who squeaks and pulls Senga out of the room before Fujigaya can find his voice.

“It has nothing to do with that!” he exclaims to everyone, though the only response he gets is from Miyata who nods so fast that he looks like a bobblehead.

A firm hand pats Fujigaya’s shoulder, and the only reason he doesn’t throw a punch behind him is because it’s Yokoo. “Sure it’s not.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Fujigaya hisses, well aware that it sounds like he’s finally giving in.

Because he just did. But he decides to do the responsible, adult thing at least and just bottle up all his feelings on the inside. He can feel weird shit all day long about his bandmate and rival so long as nobody else finds out about it.

“So what if he keeps wearing those white pants on live television as if it’s just to torment me?” Fujigaya scoffs. “I can handle it! I’m a grown-up, I don’t have to throw every hot idol I see up against the wall to rub off on. I have self-control.”

“Not so much subtlety, though,” Yokoo comments, making Fujigaya look over the back of Yokoo’s couch to where he’s making tea in the kitchen. “Is there any chance at all that you will stop talking to me about this in the near future? Or ideally right now?”

“Of course not, how am I supposed to keep my feelings all buried deep inside myself if I don’t have somebody to talk about them with?” Fujigaya says, pouting at him.

“I wonder,” Yokoo replies dryly. “Also I would hardly call the desire to rub yourself off on somebody’s pants a deep feeling.” Fujigaya opens his mouth and Yokoo cuts him off with a sharp look. “If the next sentence out of your mouth is going to be about getting deeper in any way, I am throwing you out of this apartment.”

“Watta, you’re so mean,” Fujigaya sighs, slumping on the couch and letting his head drop to rest on the back. He stares at Yokoo’s ceiling, wondering if Yokoo cleans that too. Probably. “Honestly, it’s not like I’m having a good time with it. The more I try to ignore it, the worse it feels. Unresolved sexual tension is one thing, but this is just…unresolved. What am I even going to do?”

“You’re going to tell him,” Yokoo says, making Fujigaya jerk his head up. Yokoo is standing in front of him, holding out a mug of tea.

“No no no no,” Fujigaya backpedals, taking the mug out of Yokoo’s hand and cradling it between his own. “I definitely can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Yokoo asks, sitting down next to Fujigaya and blowing on his own tea. “You’re kind of useless like this, and it’s going to come tumbling out at the worst possible time. If you just told him, he might say no, but then it’d be over. You think he’ll say no anyway, right?”

“He’ll laugh at me,” Fujigaya murmurs, cheeks getting pink. He rolls his eyes at himself, feeling stupid and uncomfortable in his own skin. “I can’t do it, this isn’t a romantic drama, it’s not even a Busaiku sketch. How am I supposed to look him in the eye and tell him anything like that?”

“So call him on the phone, hell, send him a mail,” Yokoo says, voice laced with a little exasperation. “You’re glued to that thing anyway, he wouldn’t expect any better. Given your idea of a romantic drama,” Yokoo looks Fujigaya over critically, “I can’t say I think regular confession is a good idea at all. You have the whole internet at your disposal, write down whatever you want to say and just send it. Man up, would you?”

He’s right, Fujigaya realizes, much as he doesn’t want to admit. He simply can’t go on like this, and the longer that he does, the more likely it is that his feelings will come tumbling out at the worst possible time. Probably on Music Station during the interview section, or during their live, he’ll probably trip and crash into Kitayama and send them sprawling to the ground, sweaty from skating and the lights and breathing hard and Kitayama’s weight pressing him into the…Fujigaya gives himself a hard shake and puts a stop to that thought right there, because he’s on the fucking train, goddammit. He whines quietly and rests his burning cheek against the cool metal of the standing pole. Things definitely can’t go on like this.

That’s how Fujigaya finds himself sitting in front of his laptop in the middle of the night, staring forlornly at the blinking cursor on his email. What would he even say? If the situation were reversed and he was the one getting a strange mail at half past midnight, he would automatically assume that Kitayama was fucking with him or exceptionally drunk. He could start off refuting both of those, he supposes, but that’s not really a good lead-up. Though the more he thinks about it, the more drinking seems like a good idea, at least to keep his hands from shaking and the multiple voices in his head from telling him this is the worst life choice he could ever make.

_You wanted to know why my heart was beating so fast,_ he starts. _It’s because of you._

There, he wrote something. While it’s kind of misleading, Fujigaya likes the way it sounds. It’s the truth, anyway, even if he’s not sure what that _means_. Does he _like_ Kitayama? He frowns as he imagines taking Kitayama on a date like he does with girls. Kitayama would probably eat it up, that little brat. But he can’t deny that his fingers tingle when he thinks about them holding hands, or the warmth that floods him at the thought of Kitayama smiling because of something he did, and dammit this is not what he signed up for at all.

Stupid feelings. He finds himself praying that Kitayama says no, that he makes fun of him a little and tells him he’s out of his mind, and maybe they go back to being something like friends. Because the absolute worst thing would be if Kitayama accepted it and Fujigaya actually had to put his money where his mouth is—or, more accurately, his mouth where his words are.

He catches sight of his face in one of the many mirrors adorning his bedroom and is amazed at how red it is. He must want Kitayama _bad_. Compared to those ridiculous feelings, he would be totally okay with a purely physical thing, because that’s all he’s thought about for the past couple weeks. He’s gotten used to the fantasies of Kitayama on top of him for a different reason, facing him this time, straddling his lap and rubbing against him, maybe kissing him and moaning into his mouth—

“Focus, Taisuke,” he thinks out loud, tapping his fingers impatiently on the keypad of his laptop like it’s their fault the words won’t come. “Just send the fucking mail. He doesn’t need a long, drawn-out essay of feelings—he’s not a girl.”

_Basically I want you and I don’t know what to do about it. So tell me it’s stupid or impossible or whatever so I can go back to living my life without thinking of you every goddamn second. Because it’s seriously annoying._

Satisfied, Fujigaya nods to himself before hovering over the send button. Somehow he can’t bring himself to do it, even after he rereads his email and finds nothing wrong with it. He would never send anything like this to a girl, so it’s perfect for Kitayama. He’ll get a good laugh out of it, at any rate. There’s also the possibility that it could make things weird between them, but Kitayama’s not really like that. Besides, things can’t get any weirder than they already are, with Fujigaya liable to make an ass out of himself on national television if this goes on any longer.

_And no, I’m not drunk,_ he adds hastily. _Though I wish I was, because then it would be easier to forget how it felt to have you on top of me like that._

He clicks send, then spends the next few excruciating seconds sitting on his hands not to undo it. The reality of the situation weighs in all at once and Fujigaya shoves back his chair, disappearing into the bathroom to shake his head at his reflection and resist the urge to yell “WHAT DID YOU JUST DO?!” at the top of his lungs—or, failing that, calling Yokoo and blaming it all on him.

What’s done is done, though, and he has to admit that he feels a lot better now that it’s off his chest. He’s breathing easier, and his heartbeat has lowered a bit, even if it’s still awfully fast. He remembers Kitayama’s concern about his health and pushes back a warm, squishy feeling that wants to appear, because it’s not like that, dammit. It’s not like that at all. Fujigaya just wants Kitayama’s body, okay. That’s the whole reason why his heart was beating like that.

Though it’s nothing compared to when he returns to his bedroom and sees a reply message blinking in his inbox. For a split-second, he considers just shutting his laptop and pretending this never happened, but then he heaves a sigh and sits down in his chair. It isn’t like he’ll be able to sleep not knowing what it says.

_Glad you finally found your balls_ , the reply starts, making Fujigaya frown. _I’m game if you are._

“What?” Fujigaya asks, feeling numb. He reads the first line again, looking for the “not” but it still reads the same way.

_Answer your phone_ , says the second line.

“What?” Fujigaya demands again, frowning harder, and just then his phone goes off and startles him so badly that he falls out of his chair. The only thing hurt is his pride, fortunately, although he nearly misses the call in the time it takes him to sit up and fumble his phone out. “Hello?”

“Swear you aren’t fucking around with me,” Kitayama says. Fujigaya has enough adrenaline in his system by this point that even the sound of Kitayama’s low, smooth voice makes his skin tense up in anticipation.

He has to swallow hard before he can answer. “I meant what I wrote. Did you?”

“Yeah, of course.” Kitayama gives a little chuckle. “Seriously, an email? How red is your face right now, be honest.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Fujigaya growls, leaning back against his bed and staring at his ceiling. “Let’s just get this over with, I can be at your place in twenty minutes if I—”

“Oh no,” Kitayama interrupts. “No way.”

“What?” Fujigaya says in exasperation. “You just said you wanted to! Or you typed it. Whichever.”

“I know better than to play it like that with you, Fujigaya Quick Fuck Taisuke,” Kitayama says, and Fujigaya squirms, not entirely pleased by how well Kitayama knows him. “What you wrote, did you mean it? Really mean it?”

Fujigaya squeezes his eyes shut and tries to think, but he can’t. His skin is hot and his fingers are cold and his heart is pounding so hard he can hear it; hell, Kitayama can probably hear it through the phone.

“I just…I _want_ you,” he manages to say finally.

“Good,” Kitayama says bluntly. “Because I want you too. More than just tonight. So I’m going to save you from yourself.”

“What does that mean?” Fujigaya asks, wary. This is sounding a lot like the time they held Senga down while Fujigaya and Tamamori went through his practice bag and threw out his most objectionable fashion choices.

“It means we aren’t going to fuck yet,” Kitayama says. A whine escapes Fujigaya’s throat almost before Kitayama gets all the words out. “We’re going to wait.”

“Until what?” Fujigaya knows he sounds childish, but he could give a fuck. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting already?!”

“I don’t know until what,” Kitayama answers. He sounds a little apologetic, but firm. “Until you know exactly what you do want, maybe, or until I’m sure I won’t just be just the next co-star you’ve fucked because of filming feelings. Because I see the way you look at yourself when you drag yourself into work after those. This isn’t going to be like that.”

Something about the way he says it makes Fujigaya’s chest tight, and he swallows the protests that are right on the tip of his tongue. Instead he asks, “What’s it going to be like?”

“It could be so good,” Kitayama promises, and Fujigaya’s never heard his voice like that before, low and hopeful and longing. “Taisuke, we could be so good together.”

Even after he hangs up the phone and crawls into bed, all Fujigaya can think about is Kitayama’s voice in his ear, the way he said Fujigaya’s name. He kicks aside his blankets, feeling feverish and over-sensitive, unable to find a position comfortable enough to relax. He wants Kitayama’s skin against his own, wants Kitayama to say his name right into his ear, wants it so much harder now that he thinks he might actually get it.

In the morning, he is such a mess that even his brothers raise their eyebrows at him, but Kitayama’s right, at least he doesn’t hate himself, doesn’t have to spend a half-hour trying to shower off a lot of ugly feelings. Fujigaya opens his laptop just to check his emails and make sure the whole thing wasn’t some kind of ridiculous fever dream but nope, both emails are still there.

When he gets to work, some interview this morning, Kitayama is already there, leaning casually against the wall just outside the dressing room door. He’s pretending to check messages on his phone, but Fujigaya knows Kitayama is waiting for him. Kitayama looks up before Fujigaya says anything, and a shiver works its way down Fujigaya’s spine just from their eyes meeting.

“Damn, your face is still pink,” Kitayama says, looking like he likes that more than a little. “You really must want me.”

“Said I did,” Fujigaya grumbles, shoving his hands in his pockets and dropping his eyes. “So…what now?”

“Come over tonight,” Kitayama says, more of a general statement than a demand, though he seems to expect Fujigaya’s surprised reaction.

“I thought you said—”

“I said we weren’t gonna fuck,” Kitayama clarifies, “not that we couldn’t hang out. Think of it as a home date.”

Fujigaya makes a face at going on any kind of date with Kitayama, but Kitayama just laughs.

“See you tonight,” he goes on, tone dripping with promise. “And wear that cologne you had on the other day—I really like it.”

That night, Fujigaya shows up at Kitayama’s door in street clothes, looking like he’d just thrown something on instead of standing in his closet for forty-five minutes deciding what to wear. His entire family didn’t believe him when he said he was just going to Kitayama’s, and why the hell would he lie about that anyway, but what they don’t know won’t hurt them.

He’s barely in the door before Kitayama presses right against him, entirely too close yet not close enough as he presses his nose into Fujigaya’s throat and breathes in. “Mm, you follow directions well.”

“Listening to you is in my best interests right now,” Fujigaya says as quietly as he can manage, knowing that his voice is vibrating Kitayama’s face. “Don’t get all up on me if you’re not gonna let me do anything.”

“I told you already,” Kitayama whispers, sending a shiver up Fujigaya’s spine that he has to feel. “I’m just not letting you fuck me. We have to work up to it. This is step one.”

Fujigaya blinks as he’s dragged further inside Kitayama’s weird triangle apartment. “Step one is getting me into bed?”

“You wish,” Kitayama says, and Fujigaya doesn’t feel the need to point out that yes, yes he does. “Step one is cuddling.”

He says it with such a straight face that Fujigaya just follows him over to the tiny bed, where Kitayama instantly lies down and stretches out on his side. “Seriously?”

“Come on, you know you want to,” Kitayama says, barely looking up at him from under heavy eyes. “Put whatever you want on the TV—I’ll probably fall asleep, anyway.”

“This is the worst date ever,” Fujigaya grumbles, but he climbs in behind Kitayama and slings an arm around him. Kitayama leans back against him and it’s almost good enough, feeling the weight of Kitayama’s body on his again, with the added benefit of pressing his face into the back of Kitayama’s neck. His hair smells girly like sweet flowers and it’s kind of intoxicating, leading Fujigaya to tighten his hold as his lips make contact with skin.

Then he gets an elbow to the stomach and groans. “No touching. That’s step three.”

“Are you sure about that?” Fujigaya asks, feeling Kitayama squirm against him as he leans over to Kitayama’s ear and speaks directly into it. “Don’t you want it too? You said so yourself, we’d be so good together. We’re already in your bed, Mitsu. Let me touch you.”

“You don’t want to force me, do you?” Kitayama asks, his voice even, and Fujigaya flops back onto his side in defeat.

“You sure know how to kill the mood,” Fujigaya mutters, and Kitayama pats the top of Fujigaya’s hand with his own before lacing their fingers together.

“Compromise,” Kitayama says, and Fujigaya can’t bring himself to complain when Kitayama squeezes his hand and pulls his arm further around him. Kitayama clicks around on his remote until he finds a music ranking show. “Okay?” he asks, and when Fujigaya grunts his agreement, Kitayama drops the remote into the blankets with a yawn.

Fujigaya can’t help but be tense at first, the nearness of another body, especially Kitayama’s body, sending his own into imminent sex mode. His skin feels over-sensitive and his heart is speeding, his fingers twitching a little with the want to get on Kitayama’s skin. He takes deep breaths, not that it helps since it only makes him breathe in more of Kitayama’s smell, and tries to lean into Kitayama without obviously rubbing off against him.

“Your heart is doing that thing again,” Kitayama mumbles, voice half-muffled by how his cheek is squished into his arm. “Haven’t you ever done this before?”

“Not just for the purpose of doing it,” Fujigaya says, grudging but honest. In his world cuddling is the unavoidable consequence of fucking somebody who doesn’t know him that well yet. He wouldn’t say that he minds it exactly, but usually his thoughts have nothing to do with the girl clinging to him and everything to do with wanting to check the mails on his phone or trying to figure out how long he has to lie there before he can get up and have a cigarette without looking like a complete douchebag.

“Somebody sure taught you all wrong,” Kitayama clicks his tongue at Fujigaya. “Just relax. Anticipation and desperation aren’t the same thing.”

“Who on earth would be desperate for your ass?” Fujigaya retorts, then has to clench his jaw when Kitayama wriggles that ass right against Fujigaya’s crotch purposely. “Hey, quit breaking your own rules!”

“I made ‘em, I’ll break ‘em if I want to,” Kitayama reminds, but he does fall still.

It takes a good twenty minutes before Fujigaya really starts to relax. It does feel good, Kitayama’s warmth under his arm and against his chest, the soft noise of Kitayama breathing, the way he can feel Kitayama’s pulse thrumming gently through their tangled fingers. His own eyes start to feel heavy, his limbs relaxing against Kitayama’s, and maybe Fujigaya can see the appeal of this for its own sake after all.

He’s mildly surprised when Kitayama rolls over so that he can look up at Fujigaya from his back, still tucked close against Fujigaya’s side, but Fujigaya’s only surprised because he thought that Kitayama was asleep for sure. Fujigaya himself doesn’t feel far from it.

“Hm?” he asks when Kitayama lets go of Fujigaya’s hand to press his palm against Fujigaya’s chest, right over top of where Fujigaya’s heartbeat is thumping at a much more normal rate than earlier.

“Finally,” Kitayama says in approval. “I think you might even be ready for step two.”

Fujigaya opens his mouth to ask if that’s staring soulfully into each other’s eyes or some shit, but before he gets a word out, Kitayama reaches up to thread fingers through Fujigaya’s hair and pulls him down close enough to press their mouths together. Fujigaya’s eyes flutter shut right away because he knows exactly what to do for this part, and he drops his weight to his elbows so that he can lean into the kiss more deeply, teasing along Kitayama’s lower lip with the tip of his tongue.

“Uh-uh,” Kitayama scolds, pushing him back gently by the shoulders just enough to break the kiss. “Slow. Take your time. Can’t you enjoy anything for its own sake?”

Fujigaya whines, because he _wants_ Kitayama already and all this waiting just cannot serve any purpose. He tries to hold back when Kitayama kiss him again, but it just feels unnatural, and Fujigaya ends up stiff and unresponsive until Kitayama breaks the kiss again. He’s blushing, he’s supposed to be so _good_ at this dammit, but Kitayama only chuckles.

“Switch places with me,” he says, and Fujigaya blinks before moving to obey. The narrowness of the bed takes some negotiating so that one or both of them don’t go tumbling off the edge, but Kitayama’s arm is firm around Fujigaya’s waist until Fujigaya is safely on his back and Kitayama is leaning over him.

It’s an unusual position for Fujigaya; most of the people he takes home expect him to be the aggressor. It feels nice to relax and just wait for Kitayama to do all the work, for once, and Fujigaya stretches a little before looking up at Kitayama expectantly.

“Mm, that’s nice,” Kitayama says, the view apparently meeting his approval. He leans in to pick up where they left off, but pauses just before their lips touch. “Don’t move.”

“Freak,” Fujigaya accuses, but a little shiver runs down his spine when Kitayama’s lips brush over his as lightly as possible. He does it again, and again, kisses so light that Fujigaya can barely feel them before they’re over, and the shivers spread further over his skin each time Kitayama does it. Kitayama turns his head to kiss Fujigaya’s jaw with the same light touch, then up to his cheekbone, and Fujigaya can’t stop the soft noise of longing from escaping his lips.

When Kitayama returns to his mouth and presses their lips together firmly, Fujigaya’s mouth is so over-sensitized from all the little touches that his arms fly up to wrap around Kitayama’s neck before he remembers he’s breaking the rules again. This time Kitayama doesn’t seem to mind; he hums softly against Fujigaya’s mouth as Fujigaya twists fingers in Kitayama’s hair, urging him to keep going, don’t stop.

Kitayama lifts his head finally, and Fujigaya feels dazed, no idea how long they’ve been kissing. It’s a long moment before he realizes that for all of that, for how little shivers are still running over his skin from head to toe, Kitayama hadn’t ever so much as brushed their tongues together.

“See?” Kitayama says, smiling like he can read Fujigaya’s thoughts right off his face. “It feels so much better when you take your time. Now get out, I want to sleep.”

“Whaaaat?” Fujigaya groans, but it isn’t like he expected any better from this jerk. He pouts for show though as he sits up and straightens his shirt, running a hand through his hair and complaining that he’ll be doing the walk of shame home on the late train with all the other rejected girlfriends.

“It’s good for you to experience new things,” Kitayama soothes with fake sympathy. He at least has the decency to walk Fujigaya to the door, even if his sleepy eyes and wild hair are making it look a lot more tempting to crawl back into bed rather than go out into the cold. As Fujigaya is stepping down into the genkan, Kitayama grins suddenly.

“What?” Fujigaya asks suspiciously as he tries to toe on his boots without bending down.

“You’ve never cuddled with somebody you haven’t fucked already?” Kitayama asks. Fujigaya shakes his head. “Hm, seems like I got one of your firsts after all. Thanks for saving one for me~.”

Fujigaya squawks in protest, but Kitayama is already leaning in for a last, firm kiss, the height difference between the floor and the genkan making it easy for once.

“See if you can’t think and dig up a couple more,” Kitayama whispers when the kiss breaks. “I bet I’ve got at least one. If you can find it, it’s yours.” He gives Fujigaya’s waist a little pinch and then shoves him out the door, shutting it firmly behind him.

Fujigaya can’t stop hearing the low promise in Kitayama’s voice the whole way home, cheeks once again flushed bright pink the entire trip. It surely doesn’t help his case when he tries to sneak into his house and his mother and Yuusuke are sitting right there on the couch waiting for him, demanding to know what date could be so hot that Fujigaya can only come up with an excuse as shitty as “I was at Kitayama’s.”

“Call him and ask,” he tells them, though both of their grins just get wider. “I was there.”

Serves him right if they do call, honestly, Fujigaya thinks as he slumps to his room and flops onto his bed. This whole time he’d thought he could just come home and rub one out, fantasize about what _should_ have happened in Kitayama’s bed, but it just doesn’t feel right anymore. All of that nonsexual cuddling and kissing without tongue has messed with his head.

And if he clings to a pillow all night, recalling how it had felt to hold Kitayama close to him, well that’s his secret.

What he doesn’t expect is for his heart to race the next time he lays eyes on Kitayama. It’s just before rehearsal, like any other day in the past decade, but the sight hasn’t quite affected him like this before. It’s like Kitayama’s mere appearance conjures up memories and sensations from last night, so strong that it’s almost embarrassing how he loses his breath over it.

Naturally that bastard notices, a grin spreading across his face as he walks up to Fujigaya. “Good morning,” he says, and even his voice seems to tug at something deep in Fujigaya’s chest.

“What did you do to me?” Fujigaya hisses. “I feel weird.”

Kitayama laughs, which just makes Fujigaya narrow his eyes. “You’re cute when you’re frustrated.”

“I am not…that is…” Fujigaya frowns as he tries to make his words come out right. “You did something to me, admit it. I couldn’t even jerk off without feeling guilty.”

Kitayama’s eyes darken as Fujigaya realizes two seconds too late what he’d just admitted to. “Oh really?”

“I mean,” Fujigaya backpedals, then gives up. “Fine, whatever, when’s step three? I was good and played your little game. I’m ready for step three.”

“Step three isn’t what you think it is,” Kitayama says slowly.

“You said it was touching,” Fujigaya tells him. “I remember that clearly.”

“Not the kind of touching you want,” Kitayama clarifies. “It’s the kind that makes you want more, because there are limits that likely include everywhere _you_ want to touch and be touched, but it feels so good.”

“Do you get off on denial or something?” Fujigaya asks bluntly.

Kitayama just lifts his eyebrows. “That’s up to you to find out.”

“Unfair.” Fujigaya actually pouts, feeling like a child despite the very adult topic, but backing down isn’t an option.

“Are you in?” Kitayama asks casually, like he’s just offering to meet for lunch or something. “I have filming for the rest of the week, so my next free night isn’t until Saturday.”

“That’s so far away,” Fujigaya grumbles. “Can’t I stay over before then? We don’t have to do anything, just sleep.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Kitayama says, and it only sounds a little patronizing. “I actually believe you don’t have any ulterior motives there.”

“I don’t!” Fujigaya exclaims, then lowers his voice when he sees Nikaido looking over in interest. “I just liked how it felt, okay? Isn’t that what you wanted? For me to appreciate just being close to you or whatever weird feeling this is?”

Now Kitayama smiles, a genuine one that has Fujigaya’s spirits lifting considerably. “Something like that.”

“So let me stay over,” Fujigaya presses. “I won’t touch you, I promise.”

“I believe that, too,” Kitayama tells him. “But no.”

“ _Why_?” Fujigaya whines.

“Because it’s better if you have to wait for it,” Kitayama says. “Come over on Saturday. It’s only four days away.”

Those four days feel like four weeks, testing the strength of Fujigaya’s pillow that in no way takes the place of a human being. He feels like the lamest guy to ever grace the planet, because who actually gets addicted to cuddling someone after just one night? But it feels like more than that, a deeper kind of yearning just to be close to Kitayama, to hold the smaller man in his arms and feel him breathe. He wouldn’t mind more of that kissing, either, just to feel even _more_. Step three could only be better, even if it’s not going to get him off.

Somehow getting off isn’t the goal anymore, though Fujigaya’s not sure what is. Even when Saturday comes and he spends another hour picking out his outfit, he’s still confused. If he’s not being led by his dick, he has no idea what’s going on.

“Hey,” Kitayama answer the door, looking rather nicely disheveled like he’d just fallen asleep watching TV, and Fujigaya feels that need soar within him. “You’re early.”

“You don’t look that busy,” Fujigaya replies, and Kitayama scoffs as he just lets Fujigaya in and leans against the wall. “Were you going to doll yourself up for me or something?”

“Why would I do that?” Kitayama asks. “I’m not going to be dressed for very long anyway.”

Fujigaya nearly trips over his shoes. “Say what now?”

“Even you ought to know that touching over clothes is no fun,” Kitayama says, loosely encircling his fingers around Fujigaya’s waist and guiding him toward the bed. “On your back.”

It’s possibly the easiest order he’s ever followed, stretching out underneath Kitayama’s heavy but attentive eyes and waiting for whatever comes next. What comes next is Kitayama scooting in next to him, curling right up against his side, and Fujigaya closes his eyes as the thirst that he’s had for four days is finally quenched with Kitayama’s body against his again.

Then there’s a light pressure to his throat, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. “What the—”

“I’ve always wanted to touch you here,” Kitayama says quietly, like there’s someone to overhear. “Stay still, okay? You don’t have to do anything but lie there.”

That sounds easy enough, but all Fujigaya wants to do is squirm as Kitayama’s fingers trace the hollow of his throat and around his jaw. It’s too light to be a tickle, but there’s just enough pressure to ignite Fujigaya’s nerves and drive him crazy. Fujigaya finds himself catching his breath, amazed at how much of a reaction he has over something so small, and he makes it until Kitayama dips toward his collarbone before his body gives an involuntary shiver that he feels in his toes.

“How do you feel?” Kitayama asks, his voice sounding so far away despite Fujigaya feeling the depth of it through his touch.

Fujigaya tries to speak, but what comes out is garbled Japanese and Kitayama’s chuckle is even deeper. He expects Kitayama to make fun of him, maybe even just explain what the hell is going on here, but all that happens is Kitayama popping the buttons of Fujigaya’s shirt, excruciatingly slowly as he follows his fingers with warm, dry lips.

“I don’t know why you won’t let _Duet_ see this,” Kitayama murmurs as he finishes with Fujigaya’s buttons and pushes the shirt off to either side. His palms graze Fujigaya’s chest lightly, and Fujigaya’s heart skips a beat; it skips several more when Kitayama notices and does it again more deliberately.

“It’s not for them to see,” Fujigaya says without thinking, then groans when Kitayama looks up from kissing his sternum to grin, eyes dark.

“But I can look all I want?” Kitayama asks silkily, trailing fingers up Fujigaya’s ribs, so slowly that he almost seems like he’s counting them. Fujigaya’s face flushes even warmer than it already was, but he nods. If that’s what it takes to keep Kitayama’s hands and mouth on his skin, Fujigaya would agree to just about anything at the moment.

Kitayama seems intent on mapping every inch of Fujigaya’s exposed skin, mouthing at Fujigaya’s collarbones and shoulders, all the places that his fingers skimmed earlier. Fujigaya can’t help but squirm under the attention, and Kitayama has to put hands on his waist to hold him at least partially steady. It feels so good, though, a slow burn that spreads over all of Fujigaya’s skin and leaves him dizzy in a way that the hottest club girl hasn’t ever done.

It’s only when Kitayama licks deliberately at one of Fujigaya’s nipples that Fujigaya has to stop him, suddenly arousal rolling through him and stopping right at his cock.

“Don’t,” he gasps, and Kitayama lifts his head with a vague hum. “Unless you’re planning on doing a lot more…” Fujigaya rolls his hips so Kitayama has to feel it against his stomach, if he somehow hasn’t already.

“Weren’t you trying to talk me into more?” Kitayama asks, teasing a little, but mostly he seems surprised by Fujigaya putting the brakes on for once.

Fujigaya fidgets, eyes coming to rest somewhere around Kitayama’s shoulder because it’s hard to keep looking him in the eyes. “No. I…” It’s surprisingly hard to say the words, which is a bit ridiculous given how filthy the things he says in bed usually are, but Fujigaya forces himself to say what he’s feeling. “I like this. I don’t want you to stop.”

“That’s nice to hear,” Kitayama says, sounding genuinely pleased. “Because I’ve been dying to do this to you for ages.”

That makes Fujigaya look back up. “Really?”

“All those times you made such a fuss about wanting to stay covered up,” Kitayama explains, eyes falling half-shut as if he’s picturing it right now. “I guess it’s really true what they say, that less is more. The more you tried to keep your body a secret, the more I wanted to learn all your secrets myself.” Kitayama’s hand strays lower, until he’s rubbing his thumb over the little scar where Fujigaya’s navel piercing used to be. “Why’d you take this out? I definitely had some fantasies about what I’d do to this if I ever got you on your back.”

“Wasn’t practical for costume changes,” Fujigaya shrugs, letting his head tip back into the pillow and his eyes close as Kitayama picks up where he left off, mouth and hands gentle just below where Fujigaya’s ribs stop. “Plus, nobody was ever as interested in it as I was.”

“Seriously, who have you been fucking around with?” Kitayama asks, tsking like Fujigaya is some trainee who keeps putting on his costume backwards. “Thank goodness you finally came to me so I can show you how it’s done properly.”

“Mm, please take care of me,” Fujigaya sighs. With his eyes closed, Kitayama’s soft touches feel even better, less predictable and more intense now that he can’t see where Kitayama will move to next. He is turned on, but he’s also relaxed, just enjoying the moment for once without being so worried about where it’s going next. He supposes Kitayama must be an okay teacher after all, not that he’s planning to tell him that.

It’s almost a surprise when suddenly Kitayama’s mouth is on his, the kiss just as soft and coaxing as his slow touches. Fujigaya hadn’t felt him move at all, but when he opens his eyes, Kitayama is leaning over him, looking down with dark, interested eyes like he’s just drinking in the sight of Fujigaya, wild-haired and all a mess.

“Can I do that to you?” Fujigaya blurts, and he isn’t sure which one of them is more surprised. It’s true, though, that he does really want to. After a second, Kitayama’s surprise blooms into a small, pleased smile.

“Of course,” Kitayama agrees. He sits back on his knees so that Fujigaya can sit up, and he doesn’t waste any time stripping off his own shirt and tossing it aside carelessly before he lies down in Fujigaya’s spot. “Ohh, you’ve got it all nice and warm for me right here.”

“Figures that’s what you care about,” Fujigaya snorts softly. He runs his eyes over Kitayama’s tanned, smooth skin, no idea where he should even start and fingers twitching with the want to get started. It gets worse when he notices Kitayama watching him, his eyes barely open but enough for Fujigaya to feel the heat of his stare, waiting.

“It’s okay,” Kitayama says gently, like Fujigaya needs the assurance. “You can touch me anywhere.”

“No I can’t,” Fujigaya replies pointedly, pouting a little as he lifts his hand to Kitayama’s shoulder, but his mouth falls open when he trails a finger along the bone and Kitayama shivers.

“I trust your judgment,” Kitayama tells him, and Fujigaya already knows he couldn’t cross that line Kitayama has set for them even with free reign. “Don’t stop, that feels good.”

“Yeah?” Fujigaya asks, though he doesn’t really require verbal confirmation with the way Kitayama inhales sharply as Fujigaya starts to move his fingers. It’s a lazy drag of his entire hand, like he can’t be bothered to make the effort to hold it up as he drifts down Kitayama’s arms and back across his collarbone.

Kitayama’s reactions are so enticing that Fujigaya could do this all day. He traces the outlines of Kitayama’s arm muscles, moving down his chest and back up to his throat, which Kitayama helpfully stretches out. Fujigaya uses his knuckles there, continuing up and around Kitayama’s jaw that’s just starting to bristle from the late hour, then back down the center of Kitayama’s chest. He feels Kitayama’s stomach quiver, slowly tracing the lines of his abdomen before using both hands to trail up his sides.

Predictably Kitayama squirms, and Fujigaya smiles. “I see the appeal.”

“Whatever makes you keep doing it,” Kitayama says, his voice barely a whisper. “Your hands feel nice.”

“Can I go lower?” Fujigaya asks, the words coming out before he can think about them properly, and instantly his face heats up. “I mean…”

“It’s fine,” Kitayama says, and Fujigaya’s eyes dart up to find his very, very dark. “I told you, I trust your judgment.”

“But you didn’t—”

“I would have,” Kitayama goes on, “but you stopped me.”

Fujigaya sucks in his air as he drops his hands to Kitayama’s waistband. Suddenly he feels sixteen again, the first time he’d ever opened someone else’s pants, all of the unfamiliar feelings of anxiety and anticipation flooding him all over again. He hooks his fingers under the elastic and urges them down, trying not to pay too much attention to the bulge in Kitayama’s underwear that’s demanding his attention even if it’s not allowed.

Kitayama lifts his hips to help, and Fujigaya slides his hands down Kitayama’s legs as he shoves off the sweatpants. The muscles flex under his touch and Fujigaya can’t get enough, squeezing the backs of Kitayama’s thighs that spread invitingly as Fujigaya hovers over him.

“Kiss me,” Kitayama breathes, and the next second has Fujigaya’s lips on his, pressing together over and over, but not trying for more, just like he’s been conditioned to do thus far. Kitayama’s lips are soft, his skin hot as Fujigaya’s hands try to feel everything at once, splaying all over his chest and legs as they kiss.

It’s Fujigaya who stops, placing his hands firmly on either side of Kitayama’s body as he hangs his head low enough for his forehead to brush Kitayama’s collarbone. “That’s enough.”

“Good boy,” Kitayama whispers, and Fujigaya lifts his head to narrow his eyes through his bangs. “Maybe next time we can reach step four.”

“What’s that?” Fujigaya asks, his own voice unnaturally low as his blood races.

Kitayama leans up to loop his arms around Fujigaya’s neck. “I’ll give you a hint.”

Then Kitayama’s kissing him again, only this time something warm and wet flicks at Fujigaya’s lips. It surprises Fujigaya so much that he gasps, pulling back like it’s his first time and staring incredulously down at Kitayama’s grinning face.

“You get it now, right?” Kitayama asks, one of his hands dropping to cup Fujigaya’s jaw.

Fujigaya just nods and leans in, but Kitayama shakes his head.

“Next time.”

Fujigaya flops down against Kitayama’s chest with a soft groan. “Is this the part where you send me home to do the walk of shame in front of my family?”

“You know, if you would just move out like a real adult…” Kitayama’s chuckle stirs the hair near Fujigaya’s ear, making him shiver. “No one’s making you go anywhere. Didn’t you say you wanted to just sleep with me?”

Fujigaya lifts his head to look at Kitayama’s expression, but he doesn’t find any teasing, just Kitayama watching him evenly with a small smile. He looks relaxed, and he feels so good against Fujigaya, and Fujigaya has no desire to go outside in the cold even if it means he spends the whole night hard and doesn’t sleep a wink.

“Yeah,” he says. “I want to stay.”

They end up in the same position as the night they watched television together, Kitayama’s back tucked against Fujigaya’s chest, Fujigaya’s arm snug around Kitayama’s waist. The blankets are already warm from them lying on top of them, and Fujigaya gives a little groan of pleasure when they settle in, limbs relaxing against Kitayama’s like they belong there. Kitayama is out like a light almost as soon as he stops moving, and Fujigaya feels a sleepy twinge of regret for keeping him up during his filming schedule. Nobody knows better than Fujigaya how precious a few extra hours of sleep are during a drama, and it makes him feel equal parts treasured and guilty that Kitayama of all people is giving up those hours to be with him.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he whispers into Kitayama’s hair. Fujigaya drops off quickly after that, much quicker than he would have guessed, lulled easily into sleep by Kitayama’s deep, steady breathing.

In the morning, Kitayama’s phone alarm goes off at a positively indecent hour, and Fujigaya is halfway through a really good whine when he remembers that he’s not the one who has to get up for filming.

“Thank god, I can stay in bed,” he groans, grunting when Kitayama pinches his bare side. He opens one eye to find Kitayama eyeing him with ringed eyes and adds sheepishly, “Er, if that’s okay? If you’d rather I didn’t…I won’t jerk off in your bed or anything, I swear.”

“I never said you couldn’t,” Kitayama says, and then leans in to press a noisy kiss to Fujigaya’s cheek. Before Fujigaya can do more than blink, Kitayama is sliding out of bed and trudging to the shower, hair wild and scratching at his stomach.

It’s unexpectedly cute, Fujigaya thinks as he tugs the blankets back up to his chin. Then he wrinkles his nose at himself for being so easy over dumb stuff. “Ugh, Taisuke, get a hold of yourself,” he grumbles, squeezing his eyes shut tight and trying to at least do something as in-character as picturing Kitayama naked and wet in the shower.

For a few days, other than some teasing mails, Fujigaya has to entertain himself as Kitayama’s schedule is too busy for them to meet even at work. They even have to do their magazine shots separately, and the only reason Fujigaya gets to see Kitayama at all is that he hangs around long after the others have gone, ignoring the knowing looks of his bandmates and flipping idly through a magazine until Kitayama pokes his head in the dressing room.

“Still here?” Kitayama’s surprise turns into a smirk after only a second. “Were you waiting for me, Taisuke? That’s so sweet.”

“Shut it,” Fujigaya orders, flipping over a page in his magazine as if he couldn’t care less. He can only sustain his nonchalant image for a minute, though, before he can’t resist sneaking a glance. Kitayama is stripping his shirt off, and Fujigaya gets caught staring.

“Enjoying the view?” Kitayama asks. He stretches slowly, showing off his lean lines. “Better not let the staff see you looking at me like that, they’ll start drafting our BL manga.”

Fujigaya stands up in one smooth motion and catches Kitayama around the waist before Kitayama can move to escape. He pulls Kitayama close enough to press their mouths together, Kitayama’s soft sigh muffled against his lips. He drags fingers down Kitayama’s bare spine and has to suppress a grin when Kitayama stretches obviously into the touch.

After only a few of the light, slow kisses they’ve been exchanging, Fujigaya dares a swipe of his tongue across Kitayama’s lower lip. Kitayama hums a little but doesn’t pull away, so Fujigaya presses his height advantage and traces the line of Kitayama’s lip more deliberately, asking for permission instead of demanding it for once. When Kitayama finally does open up for him, heat floods over Fujigaya’s skin at the first brush of their tongues. Fujigaya has had dozens of kisses dirtier than this, but none of them have made his blood rush so loud in his ears, made his fingertips tingle with want. Kitayama’s tongue curls around his, and Fujigaya kisses back like he can’t remember how to do anything else.

They’re both panting for air by the time Kitayama pulls back, his lips puffing up and his eyes dark. “What was that about?”

“Step four, obviously,” Fujigaya says. He can’t bring himself to stop kissing Kitayama entirely, brushing lips across Kitayama’s cheekbone and ear while he talks. “You didn’t say they had to all happen in your bed.”

“Didn’t I? Damn, I’m sure I meant to make than an official rule.” Fujigaya bites down lightly on Kitayama’s earlobe, making him gasp. “ _Oh_. Stop, seriously. We’ll be on the cover exactly like this if any staff comes in here to find me.”

“Maybe I don’t care,” Fujigaya murmurs, too occupied with how smooth and hot the skin of Kitayama’s back is under his palms, how grazing the shell of Kitayama’s ear with his teeth makes Kitayama shudder against him.

“That’s a really sweet thing to say, coming from you,” Kitayama says. He reaches up to press palms to Fujigaya’s cheeks and tugs his face back to center for one last kiss, slow and thorough, before pushing him backwards firmly. “Wait just a bit longer, all right?”

“All I do is wait,” Fujigaya pouts as his hands slide reluctantly from Kitayama’s waist, but he flops back down to the couch obediently.

“I have a feeling this one will be quick,” Kitayama tells him, winking. “It’s gonna be so worth your while, trust me.”

He saunters out the door, picking up his photoshoot shirt on the way by, and Fujigaya hisses a quiet, “Fuuuuuck,” to the empty room. He fakes indifference well enough when Kitayama returns, but the smaller man is hiding a smirk and Fujigaya knows he’s not fooling that one.

They’re silent on the way back to Kitayama’s place, though Fujigaya’s nerves are sparking with anxiety at what will happen once they get there. He’d only had a small taste of Kitayama’s mouth earlier, and all it did was make him want more. The yearning he feels for that deep kiss is comparable to how he’s felt toward sex before, even the prospect of sex with Kitayama. Somehow that feels like forever ago, when he’d had Kitayama’s weight on top of him for the Yoshio filming and just wanted to be inside him.

Now Fujigaya still wants to be inside him, but that’s not all. He wants the cuddling, and the kissing, and the touching, and all of the steps leading up to that final one. And even after that final step is complete, he wants to go back and start all over again, over and over, until…

“What’s wrong?” Kitayama’s voice pierces through his racing mind, turning to stare at him as he lingers in Kitayama’s genkan. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Fujigaya almost laughs. It’s just as unbelievable, anyway. “Nothing.”

He knows Kitayama doesn’t buy that one bit, but all he does is nod. “Ah, okay, well whenever you’re done, I’ll—”

The rest of his words are cut off by Fujigaya’s mouth, which descends upon his after his feet carry him across the room to take Kitayama into his arms. It all happens so fast that he already feels the warm slide of Kitayama’s tongue against his by the time his mind catches up; Kitayama just lets it happen, even when Fujigaya manages to move them enough for the backs of Kitayama’s knees to hit the side of his bed, sending them tumbling down onto his mattress.

Kitayama stretches out underneath him, fitting neatly against Fujigaya’s body that presses down against his. It feels so good to be surrounded by him like this, Kitayama’s arms lifting to wrap around Fujigaya’s neck to pull him closer. His legs stay straight, but they tangle with Fujigaya’s own, his thigh hard against Fujigaya crotch that grows interested even more quickly from the friction.

Everything gets so hot so fast and everything within Fujigaya wants more, kissing Kitayama deeply enough to make his head spin. His hands move on their own and the next thing he knows, he’s feeling Kitayama’s skin warm under his fingers, igniting the tiny tremors that continue through Fujigaya’s own nerves and further fuel his arousal. Kitayama makes no move to stop him, even when their shirts and pants are on the floor and all that separates them from the inevitable next step is their underwear.

Apparently he’s allowed to combine the steps, because he cannot keep his hands off of Kitayama’s body, everywhere that has him shuddering and making those faint noises that die on Fujigaya’s tongue. Kitayama’s touching him, too, fingertips splaying all over his back and sides, leaving hot trails in their wakes. Fujigaya could do this all night, pressing closer and closer until their skin rubs together, and all he can think of is how good it feels, how much he wants to stay like this.

Forever.

All at once it’s gone, the warmth and contact and mindlessness, and it’s entirely from his own doing.

“What?” Kitayama asks, looking confused as he squints open his eyes. His face is flushed and his lips are plump and shiny, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths, and it’s all for Fujigaya. But that’s all that’s for him.

“We should stop,” he says, nearly tripping over his own limbs as he tries to stand and get dressed with some amount of dignity. “I should go.”

“You don’t have to,” Kitayama says, eyeing him curiously while making no other movements.

Fujigaya looks back at him, and immediately he wishes he hadn’t. Kitayama’s sprawled out on his bed, obvious bulge in his pants and skin just begging for Fujigaya’s hands all over it, never stopping. Not in the morning, not after the novelty wears off, _never_.

“Yes I do,” he says, tearing his eyes away before Kitayama catches him staring, and somehow he makes it out of the apartment fully dressed with his shoes on the right feet.

But his heart is beating out of his chest, even faster than before, and his only saving grace is that this proves he didn’t leave it in the place he just was. His phone vibrates in his pocket, but Fujigaya doesn’t dare look at it until he’s the whole way home, locked in his room.

_Whenever you’re ready to tell me what that was all about,_ it says, _I’ll be waiting._

“Why are you so _patient_?!” Fujigaya snarls at his phone, tossing it aside. It hits the floor and the battery pops out, but Fujigaya doesn’t care at all. Feeling out of temper with everything, he strips off his clothes and curls up on his side, hoping to sleep off some of this weird feeling burning in the middle of his chest.

He dreads work in the morning and sleeps restlessly when he manages to sleep at all, waking up over and over to snatches of dreams which all involve Kitayama under him, Kitayama kissing him and whispering steps five and six and twenty in his ear. There’s even a terribly vivid nightmare about them getting married at Dome, officiated by Takizawa’s terrifying giant T. When it asks if there are any objections, Fujigaya’s mother stands up in the guest box and yells his name.

“Mom?” Fujigaya asks, befuddled.

“Taisuke, WAKE UP!”

Fujigaya’s eyes pop open, heart pounding from adrenaline and his mother shaking his shoulder roughly. “Fuck, Mom!” he gasps, clutching his chest. “What the hell!”

“Don’t what the hell me, young man!” his mother snaps, looking exasperated. “You’re late! It’s after ten already! Didn’t you set your alarm?”

“What?!” Fujigaya sits bolt upright, and catches sight of the phone still in a couple pieces on the floor. “Uuugh,” he groans. “Why did you wait so long to wake me up?!”

“What twenty-five-year-old needs their mother to wake them up for work?” his mother asks crisply. “This is like high school all over again! Could you please pull yourself together just a little bit? Whoever this girl is, it seems like she could hardly be worth it.”

“There’s no girl,” Fujigaya says, mouth on autopilot while he scrubs at his face with the heels of his palms. “I’ve told you and told you—”

“Well, you’re pretty fucked up over somebody, that’s for sure,” his mother interrupts him. “The last time I saw a face like that was when your father proposed, and he did it on the train platform so he could throw himself in front of the express if I said no.”

“It’s nothing like that!” Fujigaya snaps, weird snatches of his dream coming back to him and making him squirm even harder. He’s pretty sure Marius was the flower girl. “Get out so I can get ready, I’m late!”

“Sass me one more time.” His mother puts her hands on her hips and gives him a look that would straighten Senga’s hair. “And I’m going to make you eat that phone.”

“I really need my own place,” he crabs to Yokoo later, after he’s slunk in late to practice and been yelled at by their manager. He feels gross from not showering and wrung out from waking up panicked, and in general like he’s all a big, ugly mess.

“Then nobody would wake you up,” Yokoo points out. He looks back, unruffled, when Fujigaya gives him a fierce glare. “You really are a huge mess. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Fujigaya looks away, past Yokoo’s shoulder, and tries not to think about Kitayama wrapped tight around him, underneath him. He tries not to care that Kitayama is dicking around with Miyata and Senga off to the side like he doesn’t give half a fuck whether Fujigaya ever showed up to work or not, but Fujigaya isn’t that successful at not caring about that either.

“Taisuke, please,” Yokoo sighs, like Fujigaya just makes him so sad sometimes. “Be honest, at least with me. What did you think would happen if you fucked him? Did you think it would be different than all those other filming flings?”

“I didn’t fuck him,” Fujigaya hisses, voice icy. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“If you’d tell me—”

“I don’t want to tell you!” Fujigaya explodes, much more sharply than he ever speaks to Yokoo, even when he’s angry. “I don’t want to talk about it all, okay?! You act like you know every damn thing, but you don’t have any idea what’s this is about!”

“Well, you’re in love with Kitamitsu,” Tamamori speaks up beside them suddenly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the whole world. He raises an eyebrow at the looks Fujigaya and Yokoo both give him. “You mean, other than that?”

“And just what makes you think that?” Fujigaya demands.

“You’re rubbing your third chakra point really hard.” Tamamori points, and Fujigaya looks down and realizes he is indeed rubbing anxiously at a spot on his sternum, right in the center of his chest. “That’s the heart chakra, you know.”

“My shirt itches!” Fujigaya forces his hand down to his side. “Seriously, why are you so weird? Could you take it somewhere else already? The grown-ups are talking here.”

“Oh, is _that_ what we were doing?” Yokoo wants to know.

“It hurts if you don’t use it for a while and then it opens suddenly, huh?” Tamamori says sympathetically. “Or at least, that’s what my mom says. Also you keep staring at him and you look really angry that he’s never looking back.”

“Taisuke, what did you _do_?” Yokoo asks, sounding equal parts worried and like all of this is suddenly making a lot of sense.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Fujigaya says, dropping his eyes to the ground and trying to swallow the wave of frustration crawling up his throat because he is not going to cry in front of groupmates like a fifteen-year-old who caught his crush behind the costume rack with somebody else. “I only even told him I wanted him because I thought he’d just laugh in my face and I could forget all about it. Then we were taking it so slow, so fucking slow I could have fucked anybody else about fourteen times, and then by the time we nearly got there last night, I just felt all this…” Fujigaya waves his hands helplessly. “I don’t know what it is. I bolted. I left right in the middle, I just couldn’t…this isn’t what I wanted.”

A warm hand splays across Fujigaya’s back suddenly, making him jump a little, then starts rubbing soothing circles. Fujigaya glances to the side to see Tamamori giving him an encouraging smile. “Your heart’s a muscle, you know. If you stretched it more, it wouldn’t hurt when you used it.”

“I know that I am in huge trouble, because you actually just made sense,” Fujigaya says. He nudges Tamamori’s arm off him with a shrug of his shoulder. “Get off, you. Go make out with Miyacchi or something.” He eyes Yokoo, who is opening his mouth. “You too, shoo. There’s nothing you can do to help, nothing anybody can do.”

“Just fix it,” Yokoo tells him, clapping a hand to Fujigaya’s shoulder and squeezing for a long second before he lets it slip off. “For both your sakes.”

When he’s eventually allowed to slink home, and finally take a shower, Fujigaya finds himself in front of his laptop in the middle of the night again. It seems appropriate, since this was how he started the whole mess, to try and sort it out this way as well.

_So the other night,_ Fujigaya starts, then pauses. It’s hard to get the words out, even on to the screen, but he thinks about having to say them to Kitayama’s face instead and decides, no, he at least has a chance of managing it this way with the whole internet between them. _I shouldn’t have left without saying anything. I should have explained. But I couldn’t explain it even to myself, so…_

Suddenly it’s easy to pour his feelings out this way, to say all the things he’s been feeling, that he felt when Kitayama was kissing him and touching his skin everywhere he could reach, how he wanted so much more than just that moment, that night, and how scared he’d been when he realized. He ends up writing the longest email he’s ever sent in his life, afraid that if he can’t make Kitayama hear all his feelings now, he’ll have to keep them bottled up inside himself forever. When he’s done, he reads the whole thing over again once through, and feels curiously blank about it, like he’s just run out of feelings to have.

“Why can’t anything be simple with you?” he asks his computer, like he can ask Kitayama himself right through the screen, and then he hits send.

This time, there is no return email right away, or in an hour, or in two, and Fujigaya spends a restless night reassuring himself that there’s twenty reasons why Kitayama might not check his email until the morning, or answer even if he does. The ball of anxiety in his stomach grows steadily all the next day when he still gets no answer. By the time Kitayama actually joins them for a meeting in the afternoon and still makes no sign that he wants to talk to Fujigaya about anything, Fujigaya is too sick to his stomach to eat anything during their dinner break. He should just talk to Kitayama, he knows, but Fujigaya is too afraid he’ll start yelling before Kitayama gets more than two words out to dare try it.

He’s terrified Kitayama will tell him they can’t do this anymore. He’s even more afraid Kitayama will tell him anything else.

The next day they don’t see each other at all, Kitayama filming on location all day, but it’s for the best because Fujigaya’s anxiety finally plateaus out. It still hurts, but it feels like he can breathe again, makes it so that on the morning of the day after, he can walk right up to Kitayama and ask him point-blank if he’s checked his email.

“Oh, are you speaking to me again?” Kitayama asks, a bit coolly. His eyes are wary and ringed with exhaustion, and Fujigaya does feel bad about his terrible timing. Not that it stops him.

“I wasn’t not speaking to you,” Fujigaya says.

“Name a single thing you’ve said to me since you walked out,” Kitayama challenges, but Fujigaya doesn’t rise to the bait.

“You need to check your email right now,” Fujigaya says. “Please,” he adds when Kitayama makes no move to obey. “It’s important.”

Grumbling, Kitayama pulls his phone out of his pocket and clicks around on it a little. Fujigaya fidgets but waits as patiently as he can. He knows when Kitayama finds his email, because Kitayama’s eyes start scanning back and forth, and then go wide. But then to Fujigaya’s surprise, Kitayama shoves his phone in his pocket before there’s any chance that he can be more than a third of the way through the novel that Fujigaya wrote. He grabs Fujigaya’s wrist and marches off, Fujigaya in tow and too stunned to put up any resistance as Kitayama shoves him out a side door and lets it slam behind them.

He turns to face Fujigaya, looking him squarely in the eye. “Tell me.”

“What?” Fujigaya balks, heart starting to trip with panic. “I wrote that whole thing, just read it!”

“Taisuke,” Kitayama says, voice a little softer, but there’s steel underneath it. “ _Tell_ me.”

“I…” Fujigaya has to swallow twice before he can get anything else out. “I think I love you. I think I’m in love with you, and so far it’s scary and I don’t like it very much.”

“Mm,” Kitayama’s eyes flutter shut for a second. “You found it after all.”

“Found…what?” Fujigaya asks, mystified.

“A first.” Kitayama opens his eyes back up to give Fujigaya a smile. It’s tiny, but it makes Fujigaya’s whole stomach flip over. “No one’s ever said that to me first before.”

“No one’s ever…” Fujigaya repeats dumbly, then catches his breath. “First?”

“Fujigaya Taisuke,” Kitayama slides his hand down from Fujigaya’s wrist to wrap their fingers together, “I think I might be in love with you too. And so far, I can’t say I like it very much either.”

“Oh fuck you,” Fujigaya gasps in relief, and then Kitayama’s arm is around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss, and Fujigaya can’t make sense of anything. All he can do it cling tightly to Kitayama and squeeze his eyes shut and pant for air against Kitayama’s mouth.

“Would it kill you to kiss back?” Kitayama murmurs against his mouth, and Fujigaya shoves him back suddenly.

“I’m not kissing you until you read that whole email!” he barks, making Kitayama’s mouth fall open in surprise. “I spent an hour writing that thing, and you’re going to read every single word of it!” When Kitayama doesn’t move fast enough for Fujigaya’s tastes, he starts rifling Kitayama’s pockets for the phone himself, making Kitayama squirm and fight to evade him, until both of them are laughing breathlessly, and only a little bit hysterically.

It takes them fifteen minutes to realize that they’re locked outside. Kitayama’s still laughing when Fujigaya fumbles with his phone, trying to focus enough to select another member’s number instead of someone embarrassing like a senpai. Before he can find one, though, the door bangs open and he’s grateful that Kitayama has the foresight to grab it before it slams shut again.

“You two are gross,” Tamamori informs them as he lights up a cigarette. “At least make out where he’s not freezing cold.”

“Worried about our tongues getting stuck together?” Kitayama asks, and Tamamori’s nose wrinkles even more. “By the way, this door automatically locks.”

Fujigaya stares at the ground as Kitayama pushes him inside, fingers firm on his arm even when they get back to the practice room. Yokoo rolls his eyes the minute he sees them, but he also looks relieved while Miyata just grins and the youngest two are thankfully not around to mock them. Kitayama’s hold is much looser now, though the weight of his touch weighs heavily on Fujigaya’s mind as he processes what just happened between them.

“Calm down,” Kitayama hisses in his ear. “I can feel your heartbeat from here.”

“I’m scared,” Fujigaya whispers, not really giving a fuck who overhears. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Now Kitayama loops an arm around his waist, leaning his head against Fujigaya’s shoulder. It’s such an intimate embrace in such a public place, but comforting at the same time. “I haven’t really been fair to you,” Kitayama says slowly, his fingers playing with the hem of Fujigaya’s shirt. “I’ve made you do all of this new stuff without any kind of familiarity.”

Fujigaya just nods, his head ending up on the side closest to Kitayama’s. He buries his nose in Kitayama’s hair and breathes in, that same flowery scent from before, and everything within him relaxes.

“Wow.” Yokoo’s voice sounds even farther than just across the room. “If I had known this would get your ass to calm down, I would have made you say something years ago.”

“I didn’t feel this way years ago,” Fujigaya mutters.

“Says you,” Yokoo scoffs, and Fujigaya decides it’s a point not worth arguing.

“So tonight,” Kitayama goes on, like nobody else had spoken, though he lowers his voice considerably. “Tonight you can do what you know.”

“What’s—” Fujigaya starts, then falls silent as he realizes exactly what Kitayama means. “Step five?”

Kitayama laughs. “Sure.”

It takes Fujigaya a second to react, and only then when Kitayama digs fingers into his sides. “What?”

“Are you disappointed?” Kitayama asks, and who needs the kouhai when this one can mock him just as well? “Did you want more steps or something?”

“Shut up,” Fujigaya grumbles, trying to shove his way out of Kitayama’s grip. It doesn’t work, but then again he’s not trying very hard.

“If you want more steps,” Kitayama whispers, “you’re going to have to add them yourself.”

Then he lets go, abruptly enough for Fujigaya to jerk at the sudden loss of warmth, narrowing his eyes when that little bastard drops to the floor and starts stretching for practice. It takes Tamamori uncharacteristically smacking him in the head to tear his eyes away from Kitayama’s muscles flexing, particularly the lower ones, and it’s a small miracle that he makes it through the rest of practice without falling on his face…or Kitayama’s.

But when they get back to Kitayama’s place, after a pretty nerve-wrecking train ride where Kitayama fell asleep on his shoulder and Fujigaya had to use every ounce of his willpower not to hold him close and smell his hair, maybe kiss his forehead and wake him up with a healthy dose of step three, jumping him is the last thing on his mind. They’re barely in the door before Fujigaya pulls him into his arms, giving in to his desire to feel Kitayama’s body warm against his, breath hot on his neck and heartbeat drumming against his chest.

“Taisuke,” Kitayama breathes, and Fujigaya squeezes him tighter. “Please take care of me.”

Hearing that from this person has Fujigaya’s heart doing weird things, though its rhythm is still at a normal speed. “Of course.”

It’s Kitayama who presses his mouth to Fujigaya’s throat, unleashing the dam of arousal that’s been held back for so long, and it all floods Fujigaya’s veins so fast that he nearly falls over. A moan gets caught in his throat and Kitayama does it again, and again, kissing all over Fujigaya’s throat and jaw and anywhere he can reach with all of their clothes still on, standing up. His hands slide underneath Fujigaya’s shirt to touch his skin, fingers a bit cold from the spring night, but that just makes Fujigaya feel it more, the want spreading all over his body.

Fujigaya has half a mind to stop him, to toss in some more steps and make him wait like he’d made Fujigaya wait, for _weeks_ , but the promise of finally having Kitayama is too much to chance. Though he’s certain that at this point he’d wait forever for him, and the feeling might be mutual, which is honestly the thing that scares him the most.

Speaking of firsts, this whole being _mutually_ in love thing is completely new to him, and as terrifying as it is, he’s starting to see the perks. The way he feels right now, for one; being as Kitayama’s original goal was to not just be another hole in Fujigaya’s belt, Fujigaya would say he’d far surpassed it. He would even go as far as to say that’s an understatement, despite having barely gotten started. Already it feels different, the way he touches Kitayama and the way Kitayama touches him, and absolutely nothing about it is just for tonight.

It may as well be Fujigaya’s first time all over again with how foreign this feels, even once they’re horizontal and kicking off the last piece of clothing that stands in their way of being completely skin to skin. Kitayama’s cock is hard between them, but Fujigaya’s hands are on his chest and legs while his mouth works the shell of Kitayama’s ear, making him arch. Kitayama’s legs curl around Fujigaya’s waist, urging Fujigaya to fall between them and grab onto the backs of Kitayama’s thighs, feeling the strong muscles beneath his hands that flex with each touch.

At this angle, his cock bumps Kitayama’s and they both moan, Fujigaya lifting his head to claim Kitayama’s mouth and muffle their combined noises that only escalate as Fujigaya’s hips take over. It feels so good to finally get relief, even if it’s just rubbing against him with his hands firm on Kitayama’s ass to manually push him back.

“Taisuke,” Kitayama interrupts after a good while, when Fujigaya’s skin crawls with little tremors and he can’t actually stop moving. “Is this all you want from me?”

“That’s a loaded question,” Fujigaya answers, because it is, and they both know it. Right now Fujigaya wants anything Kitayama will give him, even _everything_.

“Fair enough,” Kitayama replies, and the next thing Fujigaya knows, he’s on his back. Kitayama stares down at him, eyes dark, hair plastered to his face and breath heaving as he straddles Fujigaya’s waist and slowly rakes his fingers up and down Fujigaya’s chest, snagging a nipple on the way. “Don’t you want me like this?”

“Yeah,” Fujigaya breathes without thinking, his fantasies surfacing full force with Kitayama on top of him, ready to ride. “I want you just like this.”

Kitayama looks smug as he leans over to the desk drawer. “Thought so.”

He leans down to press a gentle kiss to Fujigaya’s lips at the same time he slips a tube into Fujigaya’s hand, and Fujigaya shifts gears enough to focus on lubing his fingers with Kitayama distracting him with slow, chaste kisses. They cut his urgency in about half, giving him the patience to tease Kitayama’s rim until he feels whimpers against his lips, taking over the kiss when he slips in the first finger.

“Haven’t you done this before?” he asks, his touch growing more careful as Kitayama’s body resists him. “You’re so tight.”

“I have, but it’s been awhile,” Kitayama admits. “I don’t let just anyone inside me.”

“Mm, that’s nice to hear,” Fujigaya murmurs, stroking gently at Kitayama’s hip with his free hand. “It makes me wish I could say something like that back.”

“So say something different.” Kitayama stretches his back, arching a little, and finally relaxes enough that Fujigaya can add a second finger. His eyes are closed in concentration, his skin flushing a pink that Fujigaya wants to trace with his mouth all the way down. “Mm, Taisuke, tell me something good.”

“I don’t want anybody else but you,” Fujigaya says, meaning it with his whole heart. Kitayama smiles, opening his eyes enough to show Fujigaya how much he likes hearing that. “I just want you, so let me have you already. Mitsu,” he turns his head to breathe right in Kitayama’s ear, “let me in, please?”

“Oh,” Kitayama pushes down against Fujigaya’s fingers, “yes, _oh_ , almost there. I’m ready for another one, go on.”

“Is step five lying?” Fujigaya wants to know, because as good as Kitayama feels inside, Fujigaya can barely spread his two fingers apart at all, much less work a third in. “Because that feels like a lie.”

Kitayama laughs, chest rumbling against Fujigaya’s from it. “It’s lying all right, lying right on top of you.” He laughs even harder at his own joke when Fujigaya makes a disgusted noise at him, then pushes himself up so that rocking down on Fujigaya’s fingers much more like how he’s going to be riding Fujigaya’s cock soon enough. “Why don’t you use your mouth for something good for once and talk me into it?”

“Fuck, what?” Fujigaya squirms a little before he even tries, but Kitayama just keeps looking down at him like that, waiting for him.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never done that before?” Kitayama coaxes. He rocks his hips even more slowly, more deliberately, taking Fujigaya’s fingers in so deep and squeezing around them. “Because I love your voice, you know. It’s the only part of you I could get close to for so long…”

It’s different trying to talk dirty to Kitayama, a lot harder and Fujigaya doesn’t know why, but if it’s something Kitayama wants, he’s determined to try. “I want you close now, though. I want you to feel all of me, I want,” Fujigaya takes a deep breath as he eases in a third finger finally, “I want to be so deep inside of you. I want to be closer than anybody else has ever been to you.”

“You already are.” Kitayama slides fingers into Fujigaya’s hair on either side of his head to tilt his face up for a soft kiss, humming a barely audible note with each flex of Fujigaya’s fingers. “I’m ready,” he says against Fujigaya’s mouth. “Take me. Have me.”

He slides down onto Fujigaya cock as slowly as he does everything else, but Fujigaya knows how to enjoy it now, knows better than to do anything with his hands on Kitayama’s hips except for knead at Kitayama’s skin instead of trying to force him. He watches Kitayama’s face instead, the way his brow tenses and then smoothes, the way his mouth falls just a little open on a sigh. When he finally settles the whole way down against Fujigaya’s hips, Fujigaya opens his mouth but all that comes out is a soft whimper.

“So good already,” Kitayama praises, voice so low it makes Fujigaya’s arms goosebump. He splays his palms across Fujigaya’s chest, pushing him backwards. “Lie down. Just watch.”

Once Fujigaya is flat on his back, Kitayama plants his hands in the middle of Fujigaya’s chest for leverage and rolls his hips in earnest, dirtier than any version of Firebeat they’ve ever been allowed to put on stage. Or maybe Fujigaya just feels that way because it sure has him on fire, helpless to do anything besides clutch at Kitayama’s thighs and thrust up into him, eyes only for Kitayama’s dark eyes and the way sweat is starting to bead at his throat and shoulders.

Kitayama shifts his weight, the position of his hands, and Fujigaya can tell he found the right spot when Kitayama’s head tips back, baring his whole throat in a clean line that Fujigaya wants to taste more than anything, if he could only reach it.

“Looks so good,” Fujigaya manages to moan. His words turn unintelligible when Kitayama squeezes tight around him, heat pooling in belly, low between his hips. He wants it to go on and on, but he already knows he’s too close. “Not gonna last…”

“Touch me,” Kitayama orders, obviously concentrating on keeping the rhythm he has going. “Make me come for you.”

His hand is around Kitayama’s cock before Fujigaya remembers starting to move it, and then once he starts to jerk Kitayama off it takes all of his focus to keep fucking Kitayama through it, Kitayama squeezing impossibly tight around Fujigaya’s cock. Kitayama is still talking, a string of pleas and Fujigaya’s name that sounds better than any solo Fujigaya’s ever heard him do on stage. Kitayama comes all at once, back arching and fingers digging hard into Fujigaya’s chest, and Fujigaya has a split-second to marvel at how much Kitayama just came all over his stomach before Kitayama collapses right on top of the mess.

“Mitsuuu,” Fujigaya complains, as if he cares at all about the way Kitayama’s sweat-slick skin slides against his own, how Kitayama’s weight crushes him into the mattress.

“Come, hurry up,” Kitayama pants in Fujigaya’s ear, sounding a little desperate as if he’s the one still waiting. “Sorry, m’just so exhausted…”

“It’s okay, I’m almost,” Fujigaya says, closing his eyes and reaching for it. He’s still inside Kitayama, barely, but he plants his heels and rocks up into him. “I’m so close, don’t let go.”

Kitayama mouths at Fujigaya’s neck, still panting for air so that his breaths puff against Fujigaya’s damp skin, one hand coming up to drag through Fujigaya’s hair. It’s perfect, too hot and too close and too much of their skin touching to sustain it for much longer, but it’s exactly what Fujigaya needs, and he gives one last groan into Kitayama’s hair as he spills himself inside Kitayama and then all the energy goes right out of his limbs.

Fujigaya can tell that Kitayama is nearly asleep already, so he’s surprised when Kitayama stirs and murmurs, “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Idiot.” Fujigaya lets his eyes fall shut; he draws in and lets back out a breath deep enough that Kitayama rises and falls couple centimeters on his chest. “It’s not like I want to do the walk of shame home in front of my family. I’ve done enough of those for a lifetime.”

“Stay,” Kitayama says, this time with a stern voice, his arms wrapping around Fujigaya and squeezing tightly. “This is what you wanted, right? Me on top of you, like this.”

“Just like this,” Fujigaya breathes out, hands smoothing down Kitayama’s legs to entwine with his own. He falls out of Kitayama in the process, pulling a gasp from both of them as Kitayama stretches out. “This is all I wanted to begin with.”

Kitayama laughs, deep enough to vibrate most of Fujigaya’s body. “And you got so much more.”

Fujigaya just grunts noncommittally, but they both know that it’s the truth.

“Your heartbeat is still fast,” Kitayama comments, lifting his hand with what looks like a lot of effort to touch the center of Fujigaya’s chest.

“We just had _sex_ ,” Fujigaya whines, leaning his head back to glare as much as he can. “Give me a damn minute to calm down.”

“It’s okay,” Kitayama says. “It’s okay if it’s for me.”

“Good, because I don’t think it’ll change anytime soon.”

Kitayama has nothing to say to that, and Fujigaya looks down to find him fast asleep. It should be uncomfortable to sleep like this, but Fujigaya finds himself slipping away from the combination of Kitayama’s warm weight, like a heavy blanket. The next thing he knows, the sun is starting to break through the horizon outside Kitayama’s windows, and Fujigaya’s being woken in the most pleasant of ways.

“Fuck, good morning to you too,” Fujigaya groans, his voice deep and groggy as his hips snap up into Kitayama’s hand. “Mm, Mitsu, stop.”

“Stop?” Kitayama asks, fingers coiled tighter around Fujigaya’s very interested cock. “Are you sure about that?”

Fujigaya reaches down and tugs on Kitayama’s wrist, pulling it up his stomach and lacing their fingers together. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

“ _Taisuke_ ,” Kitayama whines, and Fujigaya smiles as the tables are turned. “We’re here now, right? Let me touch you.”

“Just because we’re here doesn’t mean we can’t go back,” Fujigaya says, and Kitayama stops struggling and curls up on top of him. “This is what _you_ wanted, right?”

Kitayama just chuckles. “If you think I’m waiting weeks to do this again, you’re mistaken.”

“You don’t want to force me, do you?” Fujigaya asks seriously, and Kitayama leans up to press their mouths together, making no move to deepen the kiss even after a considerable amount of time has passed.

Eventually they break apart, Kitayama’s head fitting neatly on Fujigaya’s shoulder while Fujigaya drags lazy fingers through Kitayama’s soft hair. It’s early enough that they don’t have to be up yet, cherishing what little precious time they have before Kitayama’s alarm goes off lying together like this, and the only rush Fujigaya feels is the light buzz everywhere their skin makes contact.

“Feels so good,” Kitayama murmurs eventually, and Fujigaya would think he was nearly asleep if a second later Kitayama didn’t start smirking. “Maybe I’ll write this scene into our next movie. Since you liked me falling on top of you so much in the last one.”

“Make one more joke like that,” Fujigaya threatens, “and I’m telling Taiga he can be my romantic co-lead. Bet he’d face-squish with me for _Duet_.”

Kitayama gives a low growl that Fujigaya feels all through his chest, and suddenly Kitayama is leaning over him, eyes dark, fingers wrapping around Fujigaya’s wrists possessively. “Don’t even think about it. I’m the only K you need, got it?”

Fujigaya looks Kitayama up and down dubiously. “Are you sure? Hmm. I’ve never dated a bandmate before, so you’ll have to show me how it’s done.”

“Let me show you step one,” Kitayama says, then drops on top of Fujigaya to crush their mouths together.


End file.
